


Bad Wolf (and other drabbles)

by kerithwyn



Category: Lost Girl
Genre: Drabble Collection, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 00:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble and short fic collection about Lost Girl characters other than Tamsin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bad Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fairytale is true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obvious drabble is obvious. (Tip of the hat to Meat Loaf.)

"So tell me, D-man," Kenzi drawled over the remnants of far too many empty shot glasses, "what's the story with Red Riding Hood? Did the wolf really eat her all up?"

Dyson smiled to himself. "From a certain point of view."

"Don't go all Obi-Wan on me."

He drained his beer and turned to face her. "Yes, he did. He licked her with his rough tongue until she was screaming, writhing under his touch. Would you offer your throat to the wolf?"

"You don't have any roses." Kenzi's pulse belied the steadiness of her gaze. "But I could wear red."


	2. Howl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That post-battle adrenaline needs to be worked off somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted Dyson to apologize to Hale after his behavior in season 2. And "apologize."

They beat the Garuda and no one died--permanently, anyway--during the final battle. All things considered, Hale was willing to call that a win.

People were still drifting around the Dal in the aftermath, taking stock of themselves. Bo had gone after Kenzi, and Hale hoped the human would confess to whatever was bothering her, whether it was that rash on her arm or something else. He was fond of her--probably too fond--and it was just as well that she'd moved out of his radius before something unseemly happened.

Dyson glanced over his way and seemed to hesitate. Hale really wasn't in the mood to coddle wolfly moodiness, so he threw back a shot from the bottle that Trick was pouring out freely and took the initiative, walking over to where Dyson was leaning against the bar. _Posing,_ Hale might have thought in less-complicated times. "We're good, right?"

"Yeah." Dyson smiled, a little sheepishly. Ironic, that. "I'm sorry I bugged out on you."

"Not just me," Hale said quickly.

Dyson read him anyway. "You're my partner. I should've--" he glanced away. "I should've done a lot of things differently."

 _Ciara,_ his body language sang. And _Bo._ Hale heard the mournful notes of grief and loss, written across Dyson's spare frame. "You came back. That's what counts."

"Glad to hear you say that." Dyson regarded him steadily. "Listen, about your sister--"

Hale flapped a hand. "Bygones." He made a decision, eyed his partner from under the brim of his hat. "You want to make it up to me, though...."

Dyson laughed, the first honest sound Hale had heard out of him in weeks. "Been awhile. Didn't think you were still interested."

He tried to cover his discomfort with a shrug. "Battle fever, you know, makes a body itchy."

"So you think I make a good scratching post?" Dyson mocked, but his voice held a warmth Hale thought lost. That warmth gathered, pooled low in his stomach, sent his eyes darting toward the door.

"My place?"

"We'll take my bike," Dyson said, already on the move. Hale grinned to himself--clearly, he wasn't the only one feeling the fight's aftereffects. 

He remembered the feel of Dyson's clever hands and hurried to catch up.


End file.
